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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193131">Offbeat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontrollthedice/pseuds/dontrollthedice'>dontrollthedice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Symphony Orchestra, Fluff, M/M, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, percussionist!bbh, percussionist!skeppy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:55:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontrollthedice/pseuds/dontrollthedice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All Bad wanted to do when he renewed his contract with the MCYT Symphony was breeze through rehearsal, make a few new friends, and have fun while he lived his dream of being a professional percussionist.</p>
<p>Then some muffinhead in his section just had to come along and bug the absolute heck out of him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>578</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Offbeat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*cries in spent 8 hours straight on this yesterday after finding out skeppy played drums and a few more hours today editing it*<br/>i blame feedles for this. thanks for looking over this. and now for some terminology bc is it really a fic from me if it doesnt have a terminology list in the beginning notes</p>
<p>concertmaster: leading first violin player in some orchestras<br/>chair - how players in an orchestra are arranged in their section. the lower the number, the better the chair<br/>concerto - composition for a soloist accompanied by an orchestra<br/>section leader - often the best player in the orchestra. takes on additional responsibilities that vary by orchestra<br/>staccato - each note is shortly detached from the other notes<br/>stick case - a case percussionists use to carry around mallets and drumsticks<br/>rosin - an amber colored resin that string players apply on their bows to make sound on their instruments<br/>crescendo - increase in volume</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The start of a new season was always invigorating. The time before their actual rehearsal began was less so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coffee?” Bad offered, holding out a cup to A6d.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d took it without a hint of hesitation and gulped it down in one shot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... You okay, buddy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m fine,” A6d said in a way that didn’t seem fine at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Same orchestra, same conversations. Bad had been a member of the MCYT Symphony for the better part of a decade and while the majority of his friends had only joined last season, it seemed they had adopted the tradition of entering early morning rehearsals with the energy of a rock along with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe it was just that nobody liked waking up for rehearsals at eight in the morning. That was a possibility as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there anyone new this season?” Bad asked, leaning his arm against one of the tables strewn about backstage. It was too late by the time he realized he was too tall compared to the table to do so; he accepted the pain in his hip he’d experience later in the rehearsal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d bit back a laugh but couldn’t hold back his smile. “I mean, I know of a couple people. I don’t think you’d know them, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, like who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, there’s the new concertmaster, for one…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad turned towards the front of the stage, where a man in a red coat shook hands with the conductor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His name’s Techno,” A6d said, throwing his head back to catch the last drops of coffee in his cup. Once all of it was drained, he took Bad’s cup and sipped from it. “He’s doing a concerto next concert cycle. Saint-Saens number three, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Good choice for a piece. Techno seemed like the kind of man who had the same unapologetic, ominous presence the piece required—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad frowned. “Hey, my coffee!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll buy you lunch after rehearsal. Deal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well… free lunch in exchange for coffee didn’t sound too bad. And he had meant to go out for lunch with A6d after rehearsal anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Deal,” Bad said. “Anyone else I should know about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d paused to take another sip from the coffee cup. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bad’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> coffee cup. Rest in peace, coffee. “You probably already know, but Skeppy’s new here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Skeppy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d leveled a disbelieving stare at him. “You don’t know Skeppy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bad. He’s a percussionist. Aren’t you the section leader?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but they don’t tell me stuff like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was literally in the email they sent out a couple weeks ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Whoops?” Bad said, moving his hand to cover the back of his neck. He could only chuckle when A6d sighed and shook his head. Judging from that reaction, he had a good backload of emails to catch up on. “Do you know what he’s like?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d shrugged. “A little. I’ve played with him in other orchestras before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he good?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s in this symphony, of course he’s good. You’re asking the wrong person, too. I play piano.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s still a percussion instrument.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but it’s not the same type of… you know what? Okay.” A6d stacked one cup inside the other. Had he really finished drinking two (well, more like one and half) cups of coffee already? “I mean, I don’t know if I’m right or not, but he was on snare most of the time and seemed pretty good at it. I heard he’s better on timpani, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Timpani? The percussion section, while great musicians, had certainly been lacking in the timpani department. Tuning it as often as it needed to be tuned was a pain in the… word Bad refused to say. Everyone could perform decently well on it—it was their job, after all. But given the choice, he couldn’t say any of their past percussion section would jump on the opportunity to play it. Maybe things were different in the orchestras Skeppy had been in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, thanks for telling me,” Bad said. “I’ll greet him properly once he comes in. I’m gonna go get a cup of coffee for him, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad stopped when A6d put a heavy hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” A6d said, his eyes wide and his words sharp and staccato. “Don’t do that. Trust me on this one. Spare the rest of the orchestra.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The utter amount of desperation in A6d’s eyes was alarming. It was second only to the time Bad had set a cup of water on the piano and almost knocked it off in the same motion, and there had been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of desperation during that moment on both ends.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Actually, Bad was impressed they were still friends after that. If somebody had set a cup of water on the timpani and almost spilled it, he was certain his entire section would ban them from coming near the percussion section for eternity. He made a note to thank A6d for trusting him to be near the piano after that disaster.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay?” Bad said, tilting his head. He held his hand out for the cups. “I’ll throw the cups away. You go practice your solo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d nodded a thanks to him and walked onstage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad threw away the cups of coffee, humming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>New season, fresh start.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Bad walked onstage, he was greeted by a suspiciously empty section.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad frowned as he laid out every music folder and set a pencil on each stand. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for his section to come later than he did, but what was out of the ordinary was how perfectly every instrument was set up. Even after a decade of service, the stage manager still managed to mess up their section every time. The only person who could’ve set it up to this degree of perfection would be another percussionist—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boo!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad let out a scream the piccolos would be envious of and whirled around, only to see a slightly shorter man with puffy black hair snickering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god, that went so much better than I thought it would,” the man managed to wheeze out before breaking into another fit of laughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad sighed but waited for the man to stop laughing. “It’s not that funny.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s pretty funny.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Okay, it was a little funny,” Bad said, his lips curving into a small smile. “You must be Skeppy, the new percussionist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man raised an eyebrow. “Huh? No, I’m not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I’m gonna have to ask you to step away from the percussion sec—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chill, chill, I’m Skeppy. Just joking around,” Skeppy said. He offered him both a hand and a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huh. A6d had been right about not giving him coffee after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad shook the hand and smiled back. “I’m Bad, your section leader. Nice to meet you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A flash of panic crossed Skeppy’s face (as it should. Bad stood just a bit taller at that) before it dropped in favor of a grin. “When’s everyone else coming in?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They should start coming in about five minutes or so.” Then Bad paused. That grin looked just a bit too suspicious. “No, you’re not allowed to scare them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wasn’t going to,” Skeppy said with a shrug before he started his walk to the timpani a couple meters away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad’s gaze stayed on him for a bit before he turned to organize his own music into rehearsal order.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad didn’t trust him already. What a great start to a partnership.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bad liked to think he was patient. He certainly had to exercise a good amount of patience every time Sapnap thought it’d be funny to screech a violin E string at random times (Bad played in the percussion section, he was already at risk of hearing damage) or when George forgot yet another pencil to rehearsal (George was a professional musician, how did he not have a pencil with him at all times?).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Skeppy?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Goodness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Skeppy, could you please give me my pencil back?” Bad sighed, holding his hand out. How had Skeppy even swiped his pencil without him noticing? There was a good amount of distance between their instruments. “I’d prefer to keep it on my stand the entire rehearsal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thank goodness the conductor was distracted by Techno asking a question on… bowings? Bad didn’t know what happened in the string section, but for once, he was glad no eyes were on his section.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you have another one?” Skeppy asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but then I’d have to take it out of my bag and—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy locked eyes with him, then licked the pencil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad wasn’t paid enough for this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad sighed and turned around, surrendering his pencil and sanity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the last of his sanity died when he heard a fit of giggles behind him as he walked back to the cymbals.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And then he just licked my pencil! Can you believe that little muffinhead? I—stop laughing, A6d, it’s not funny!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d’s hysterical laughter continued despite the pout on Bad’s face (ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha? Was that pattern intentional?).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It might have been a little hard to take Bad seriously when they were seated in a cafe with a bright, energetic theme. The muffin (gluten-free, he had said specifically when A6d was ordering) on the table in front of him certainly didn’t help matters, not to mention the hearts drawn in the foam of the coffee they both ordered. And A6d was probably more used to Skeppy’s antics than Bad was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So all in all, things didn’t look too good for Bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, he licked your pencil?” A6d said when his laughter died down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah? Have you not been listening to anything I’ve been saying for the past ten minutes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, I have. I just…” A6d laughed again. “He licked your pencil.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, we’ve established this. It’s his pencil now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just gave up that quickly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad took another bite out of his muffin, looking away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surprisingly, Skeppy’s shenanigans had stopped after the pencil incident, which had occurred after two straight hours of verbal prodding. There had been a break somewhere in that two-hour block, but Skeppy would find more ways of annoying Bad even when he tried to escape to Dream in the trombone section.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(And Bad reminded himself to never depend on Dream to get him out of a situation. Apparently Dream was just as devious as Skeppy and would willingly corral him back into whatever shenanigans Skeppy was about to pull. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d took a sip of his coffee before speaking. “Bruh moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, he said that a lot, too,” Bad grumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. That’s why I said it.” He smiled when Bad glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that. You would’ve taken the same opportunity, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I would be supporting my friend during this tough time and actively trying to make them feel better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d rolled his eyes. “Alright, I get it. I’ll buy you another muffin to take home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad grinned. “You know me so well. Oh, did you know you laugh in sixteenth notes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only you would keep track of that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m right and you know it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next day when Bad walked onstage and was immediately met with a pack of a hundred pencils, he blinked and briefly wondered if he was dreaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, hi?” Bad said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude, just take the pencils,” Skeppy grumbled, looking anywhere but at him. “I don’t wanna piss off my section leader of all people, so…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pencils were the cheap, mechanical ones that squeaked if you pushed on them too hard, but they were pencils nonetheless (with multiple colors, too!). And it was a disguised apology. Bad could accept that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad looked at the pencils.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at Skeppy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright, you muffinhead,” Bad said, taking the pack of pencils from him. “You bring a lot of life into this section. You never need to apologize for that. Just try not to disrupt rehearsals, okay? Breaks are fair game.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy stilled, then his hand shot up to cover the smile forming on his mouth. “You sure you wanna make breaks fair game?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do realize you’ve made a big mistake, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Skeppy’s hand dropped to his side and he shot Bad a bright grin that could rival the sun. “Alright, Bald Man, you’ve dug your own grave. See you during break.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So stunningly bright Bad almost missed that insult.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Bad called as Skeppy walked away from him. “I’m not bald!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy only laughed, and Bad wondered if he would end up regretting this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Skeppy,” Bad said, his voice even. “Where’s my stick bag?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy frowned at him from where he stood in front of the snare drum. “Dude, I’ve been practicing here the entire time. Why do you always assume it’s me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been you for the past two weeks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then a chuckle escaped from A6d.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Bad turned around, A6d had ducked to hide behind his piano.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Skeppy laughed, his laughter ringing off the walls of the stage like bells, and A6d held up a familiar stick bag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad had to smile at that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite it all, he had no regrets.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Language,” Bad called, not bothering to look up from his sheet music. Just by the voice, he knew who it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, and the actions he had taken just a couple minutes prior while Skeppy was elsewhere. But that was less important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy ran a hand through his hair as his eyes darted all over the floor. “My timpani mallets. Where’d they go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which ones, Skeppy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The ones I use for the end of the last piece.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Bacchanale?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad shrugged. “Go ask around. Somebody has to have seen them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That didn’t make any sense at all. Nobody other than a percussionist would know what those mallets looked like, nor would there be a reason they’d be misplaced somewhere that wasn’t in the percussion section. But Skeppy seemed to believe him anyway and began questioning people in the first violin section.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad hid his smirk behind his sheet music and pushed his stick bag containing an extra pair of mallets further away from the light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was worth it. Even after Skeppy spent five minutes roaming around for it and jokingly gave Bad the silent treatment for the rest of rehearsal.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Bad,” Skeppy called just as Bad finished packing the last of his mallets. “Zelk, Mega, and I were gonna get dinner together. You wanna come along? I’ll pay if you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a tempting offer. He had only had one short conversation with Zelk and had never spoken to Mega before, after all. Bad would’ve taken up an opportunity to speak to people he knew and respected any day except for this one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, not that part about Skeppy paying. He wasn’t too keen on that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad snorted. “We’re all on musician budgets, there’s no need to do that. I can’t anyway, I still need to walk my dog. But thank you for the invitation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, see you later then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three waved a goodbye to him before leaving the stage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was nice of them. Skeppy was quite a nice person when he wasn’t pranking someone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At some point in a friendship between musicians, the same question was always asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why’d you choose percussions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t talk while chewing on something,” Bad said, wrinkling his nose. He groaned when Skeppy only chewed more obnoxiously in response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was noon, two hours after their rehearsal had begun. They were allotted one hour for their lunch break before they went back to rehearsal for another hour. Bad didn’t quite know why he had invited Skeppy out for lunch, but here they were, sitting on a bench outside while fending bugs away from their lunches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy laughed when he swallowed the bite of his sandwich. “Hey, I asked a question.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad shrugged. “In middle school, we had a choice between band and choir. I wasn’t about to go up there and sing in front of everyone, so…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? That’s it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you want me to say something else?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, that’s fine,” Skeppy said. His eyes clouded over, as if he were deep in thought. “Just not what I was expecting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad recognized that look. That was the expression of someone lost in a composition, flowing with the phrase as it dipped up and down. It was the same expression he noticed from other musicians when they read through their music for the first time. Some hummed along, some conducted along, some did both. Skeppy was swept away by something—memories, maybe?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about you?” Bad asked, careful to keep his tone softer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy hummed for a moment before saying, “I don’t know, really. I started in high school—you know Zelk? We went into band together. And I guess it just stuck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why’d it stick?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, when you’re angry at the world and you get an opportunity to hit things while sounding good…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was true. Bad knew his fair share of musicians who went into music pouring their feelings into it and received a new, positive set of emotions back. He wasn’t too surprised to hear Skeppy was one of those musicians.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad you stuck with it,” Bad said after a period of silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Skeppy said. “I’m glad, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They ate the rest of their lunch in silence, listening to the wind and trees around them whisper a soft tune.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bad walked backstage to a raised eyebrow from Sapnap. There was only one thing that could mean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just got here,” Bad said quickly. “I promise I’m not the one who licked your rosin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap’s nose wrinkled. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not it? Then I’m not the one who hid your extra strings from you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m running out of ideas here. I’m not the one who… mixed up all your sheet music? George did that one time, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>George?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sapnap shook his head to the beat of the genius onstage messing with the snare drum. Bad didn’t think Sapnap quite realized what he was doing. “Okay, I’ll deal with that later. But Dream just texted me saying he saw you and Skeppy carpooling. What’s up with that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, that. Bad didn’t think that would be text-from-Dream-worthy, but he supposed his friends had other priorities.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad shrugged. “We’re both percussionists and we live pretty close to each other. It was just the convenient thing to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, he lost his driver’s license in a giant accident and begged me to take him with me to rehearsal,” came a third voice and a hand on his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad glared and moved his head. “Skeppy, be quiet. That’s not what happened at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy gasped. “Wow, so my voice isn’t music to your ears? Rude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, I can’t believe Bad did that,” Sapnap said, his lips pulled into a teasing smile. “Gonna have to unfriend him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad crossed his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy only laughed and walked onstage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he disappeared past the walls of the stage, Sapnap turned back to Bad with a smile and patted his head. “Since when were you two good enough friends to carpool?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad patted Sapnap’s head back. He supposed they were stuck in an impromptu head-patting match now, because neither of them seemed willing to give up first. “I’m not sure. But he is a good friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you stop patting my head?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if you stop patting mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two stopped and shared a laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He loved this orchestra. There was nothing else in the world he would give it up for.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took that back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god, they put you on fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>snare</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Bolero?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Language!” Bad frowned as Skeppy laughed. “And yes, they did. I don’t know why they did, but I don’t particularly mind. It just means someone else is gonna have to be on snare next time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy shrugged, still smiling. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if somebody’s on snare, it’s probably best that it’s you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean by that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait…” Skeppy raised an eyebrow. “Did you never notice you’re the best on snare here? After all this time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. He seemed awfully serious about that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad blinked, and his heart stuttered to the same rhythm as a grace note. “I am?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s all you’re gonna say to that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just…” Bad couldn’t help the smile rising to his face and laughed. Something in his chest warmed. “No one’s told me that before. Thank you, Skeppy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy blinked, then smiled back at him. “It’s just the truth.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ugh, long rehearsals were always such a pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad rolled his shoulders after setting the cymbals down with a sigh. It was three hours into a five-hour-long rehearsal. It was closer to the end of rehearsal than it was to the beginning, but he wasn’t too enthusiastic about standing for another two hours after—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pair of hands slammed down on his shoulders—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boo!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad stiffened and whirled around, only to see Skeppy grinning at him. “Skeppy! Don’t do that!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, you didn’t scream this time,” Skeppy said with a pout. “Guess I’ll have to keep doing it until you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, what? No, don’t do—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy screamed, prompting Bad to scream as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad sighed as Skeppy laughed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was familiar though, the good kind of familiar, the kind of familiar the first piece he ever performed in middle school band or the first piece he played with a professional orchestra was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy’s shenanigans were familiar, and Bad wouldn’t have it any other way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Bacchanale from Saint-Saens’s Samson and Delilah was always a pleasure for the percussionists, especially for the person on timpani. Not like Bad would know. Most of his time on the piece was spent on cymbal duty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Skeppy—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad watched Skeppy ready his mallets over the timpani as the trill in the violins and flutes crescendoed. Then as soon as they lifted off the highest note, the mallets hit the head of the timpanis with the rhythm of the lower strings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy’s gaze was fixed on the sheet music (with a couple glances at the conductor), his brows furrowed as he narrowed in on each note on the page. The mallets in his hands were a blur as they bounced off the timpani and back on in time with the music. The expression on his face was just as playful, intense,</span>
  <em>
    <span> free</span>
  </em>
  <span> as the theme playing above them. Passion radiated off every move he made.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took Bad a moment to realize he was staring and breathless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy was amazing. Truly, stunningly amazing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, muffin, he almost forgot about his part—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad scrambled to pick up his cymbals and crashed them just in time to not draw any weird looks. He let out a sigh when the piece ended on a final short note.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart was pounding at a tempo too quick for his liking. Whether it was from the music or Skeppy, he wasn’t sure, and frankly, he didn’t want to know.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No pre-concert muffin this time?” A6d asked, his gaze still trained on the stack of sheet music in front of him as he sorted through it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad shook his head. “Nope, didn’t have time. This is a new suit. It took longer than I thought it would to put on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look nice in it, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, thank you! You look nice in yours, too. Your bowtie is a little off, though, can I fix it?” Bad reached out to rearrange the bowtie when A6d stepped forward and lifted his head up. He retracted his hands after he straightened the bowtie. “There you go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” A6d reached up to touch it, stopped himself, then set his hand back down. Good decision. “Oh, why didn’t you and Skeppy carpool together?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad frowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The story behind that was admittedly weird even for Skeppy. Bad had called asking if they were going to carpool for the concert, only for Skeppy to respond with something along the lines of “Trust me, you’re gonna like this.” That only alarmed Bad more considering the fact every time Skeppy said to trust him, Bad shouldn’t have trusted him, but he was willing to relent and drive to the concert by himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad shrugged. “Skeppy said he was—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said what now?” came a third voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad jumped while A6d only raised an eyebrow. How did A6d manage to stay calm at everything?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should really stop doing that, Skep,” A6d said. “I think you’ll end up giving Bad a heart attack sooner or later. Your entire section would go to hell without him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy only laughed. “It’s okay, we’ll revive him. He hasn’t said anything about your curse word yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, he hasn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, Bad hadn’t. Every sound around him had muffled until he could only hear his own heartbeat accelerate as he stared and stared and stared at one of the greatest musicians he had ever met. There was something about the way the suit fit him, the way his hair puffed and curled like bass clefs, the way his crinkled eyes gazed at Bad with such unfiltered fondness—all of it sent his heart soaring above the highest notes in the staff and picking up tempo until it crashed into a wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had just spent a good moment staring at his friend whilst saying nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reality smacked him once more when Skeppy smirked and said, “You like what you see?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then smacked him again when he registered A6d’s chuckles next to him, confirming that he had, in fact, spent long enough staring for both of them to notice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was tiring. He didn’t want his heart to fall flat on the floor after having soared so high. Not anymore. What did he have to lose anyway? A friendship he valued deeply and would give up the world for?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, maybe that. But he had taken a giant risk becoming a professional musician in the first place. He needed to take a few risks if he wanted any sort of reward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually,” Bad said, surprised his voice wasn’t shaking. “I do. And language, A6d.” With that, he took his stick bag and walked onstage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only when he began setting up his instrument and catching Dream sending him a concerned look that he realized just how much he was trembling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still had an entire concert to go through. And Skeppy was in his section.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad took a deep breath, then hid his face behind a hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Regret. The regret was strong today.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hours spent performing were minimal compared to the hours spent practicing and rehearsing. But those few hours onstage made those hundreds of hours worth everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad’s heart pounded with the beat of the music as the strings and winds repeated one of the themes from the Bacchanale for the last time in the piece. The notes stacked on top of each other, the upper strings and woodwinds flying overhead while the brass and lower strings made up the layers underneath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trill began. Bad waited, waited, waited—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The strings and woodwinds lifted up on their last note of the phrase, then the tempo picked up and in came the thunderous rhythm from the timpani and lower strings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No time to stare at anyone again. Bad lifted up the cymbals and followed along as the orchestra sung the main tune. Only a couple more measures until…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad crashed the cymbals together. Adrenaline raced through every inch of him as the music grew louder and louder, faster and faster—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And before he knew it, they were done. The concert was finished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately, the audience cheered and clapped. Bad could make out a few that had rocketed out of their seats for a standing ovation from his limited view in the back of the orchestra and with the blinding lights overhead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huh. He was sweating. When had that happened?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the conductor went section-by-section gesturing for the players to stand up, Bad hazarded a glance to his left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skeppy looked straight back at him with a victorious grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They did it. Everyone did it. The concert was over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad shot him a grin back and stood a bit straighter when the conductor gestured towards them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was always something surreal about cleanup after a concert. The blinding lights had faded just a bit, and more lights shined above the audience. A low chatter buzzed in the air, both from the few audience members and musicians who still remained and from the stage crew passing instructions back and forth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad looked around, humming the tune of their last piece.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A6d had mentioned he would head home directly after the concert, and judging by his lack of presence anywhere near the piano, he had made good on that promise. Dream and Sapnap stood on either side of George as he disassembled his instrument. Bad remembered they had invited him along with them on an adventure to finally try the carbonated melon milk Sapnap had been bugging them about trying, but he had declined in favor of…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, he didn’t quite know himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” came a familiar voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad turned, only to see Skeppy standing in front of him avoiding all eye contact with his arms wrapped around his waist. Bad offered him a smile despite the embarrassing moment from today replaying in his head. Skeppy looked far more embarrassed than Bad felt in the moment. “You need anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um…” Skeppy sighed, then finally brought himself to look at Bad directly. Funny how he only just now noticed how shiny his eyes were. “Wanna get dinner together? Just the two of us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad froze, but his heart rushed ahead so far he could almost hear himself scolding it for not staying on beat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the smile on Skeppy’s lips was so warm, so bright. Warmer and brighter than the sun. Just like the person the smile belonged to. The person Bad had fallen for against all expectations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Bad gave him a smile he hoped was equally warm and bright and said, “Sure, I’d love to. Where do you wanna go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad’s heart melted as Skeppy rattled off a giant list of places they could go he had obviously searched up before approaching him. He stumbled over his words, crescendoing at random intervals and speaking in what was probably the most complex time signature either of the two had seen. None of his words were onbeat with the moderate tempo he had established at the beginning of their conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad didn’t mind. The offbeat in his life that was Skeppy made everything around him so much more musical.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i am but a lowly violinist please have mercy on me<br/>anyway heres the link to the pieces i mentioned plus a bonus one really close to my heart<br/><a href="https://youtu.be/DZxwiABbock">Violin Concerto no. 3 by Saint-Saens</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r30D3SW4OVw">Bolero by Ravel</a><br/><a href="https://youtu.be/vjRiLKSPbqc">Bacchanale from Samson and Delilah by Saint Saens</a><br/><a href="https://youtu.be/_Od7gx3Dc-U">Romeo and Juliet Overture by Tchaikovsky</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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